


Collide

by enemyfrigate



Category: Flashpoint
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-16
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-18 04:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/185173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ed and Sam come together after a tough day on the job.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collide

Ed slams the door shut behind him and turns to Sam, who grabs him with a rough hand.

They meet against the wall, their mouths crashing together, hips and ribs and long thigh muscles colliding.

Ed catches himself against the wall with his hands fraiming Sam's head, seeming to cage him there, but it's Sam who has all the running here, Ed who is clay in Sam's hands.

After today, that's a privilege Ed will never forget.

After today, Sam almost - wasn't.

The SRU is hazardous and Ed gets that, Ed *loves* that. Sam gets it, too, and Sam loves it, and they both know the kind of work they do. Well, violence begets violence, and that's knowledge they both share.

Talking about it isn't their style, not in the beginning, when they had to consider the team and their own ability to seperate emotion from action, not when death has come close enough that one of them felt the wind from his wings, not ever.

This is what they do, get in each other's space, bang against each other, confirm that bone and marrow and muscle and skin still hum with life.

Ed gets his hand in Sam's jeans, palms Sam's cock, and Sam jerks. Swears something, fuck something, but Ed isn't much concerned with words, just in his head, the litany: you're here, you're here, you're here, something he'd never utter aloud, for fear that the universe will overhear.

Sam shoves Ed back , fumbles at the buttons on his shirt, yanks it over his head, leaving him in tee shirt and jeans. He catches Ed's eye, and heads for the bedroom.

Ed remembers missions in detail. It's his job. It's who he is. But when he and Sam come together like this, it all happens in flashes, memories strobing into his mind even as they make them: Sam throwing his shirt on the floor, and then his jeans are in a heap and then Ed's clothes litter the carpet. He doesn't remember how they got onto the bed, how or when their briefs came off, who dragged the quilt aside until it slid onto the floor.

He's on his back, Sam mouthing as his chest, hands claiming his ribs, Ed's fingers grasping at Sam's head, his shoulders, his back, kneading and holding and probing.

Sam's mouth reaches Ed's cock, and Ed mutters, Sammy, Sammy. His cock wants Sam's throat, but Sam teases, torments. He can never say how long Sam spends getting him ready, before Sam straddles him, sinks onto his slicked cock.

Ed remembers leaving the fingtertip bruises on Sam's hips, but he doesn't remember leaving bitemarks on his strong forearm. He does recall Sam pushing his hands above his head, daring Ed to make a move, daring him to deny his strength. Ed welcomes it, welcomes Sam's possession, though it makes it harder to fuck up into him, no matter how strong he is.

Sam tightens and relaxes around his cock, rises and falls, finding pleasure for both of them.

There's no words when they come, just shouts.

Sam collapses onto Ed, weighs him into the mattress.

There's not a centimeter between them. Ed can smell Sam's soap, his sweat, registers his harsh breathing and the way limp armstry to hold on. Ed wraps a tight hold around Sam, draws him closer.

Sam, here. Sam, alive.

The moment, today, when it all had hung at the tipping point, when Ed knew Sam was in crosshairs, when Ed's tactical sense had thrown up all the scenarios and how to handle them: alive, injured, dead. Everything had hinged on Sam. Ed will never tell Sam this, but out of the seven scenarios his brain presented, only one of them presumed that Sam would be alive and unharmed.

All through debrief, all through the drive home, Ed had been rerunning those scenarios, as if Sam was still in some kind of inbetween state.

As if Sam had not really been alive until they had smashed the barriers between them, the necessary barriers of their profession, and the barrier they never talk about: the fear of loss.

Ed's breathing slows, but it's hard to get enough oxygen with Sam on his chest.

He doesn't ask Sam to move, or shove him off, because this right here, this courageous young man blanketing him, this is Ed's proof.


End file.
